


Perfect Clarity

by InuShiek



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, Gags, Human Furniture, M/M, NSFW, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Slash, Sticky, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InuShiek/pseuds/InuShiek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wheeljack has a very important game of Asteroids to play, and he really just needs his footstool to stop squirming so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a more smutty one. i like this one better. yeeeeeeah
> 
> c'mon, fandom, i'm counting on you. blow me away with your superior writing skills for this here furniture thing
> 
> chop chop

Wheeljack props his leg up on his squirming footstool- foot flat against his aft.

He nearly falls at the suddenly push forward, being tied wrists to shoulders and ankles to thighs, but Ratchet manages to catch himself and remain on all fours. The medic turns to glare at the Wrecker, but Wheeljack is pointedly pretending to read.

 _Pah, read_ , Ratchet fumes to himself silently. He’d say it out loud too if Wheeljack hadn’t gagged him.

He forgets that he’s supposed to be angry when that blasted ring around his spike hums back to life and he’s immediately right back on the edge of overload and squirming again.

Wheeljack plops his foot down on Ratchet’s back now, and his footstool releases a quiet grunt at the sudden weight. “Quit squirming,” the Wrecker says even as he grinds his other heel against Ratchet’s perfectly presented and heated panel.

Hands clenching into fists, Ratchet bucks his hips as much as his predicament will allow as he _just almost_  peaks until the spike ring serves its purpose and makes him groan in frustration. When he hears Wheeljack boot up a game on his data pad, the medic cycles his vents in a loud huff and gives up on trying to force his frame to be still.

Smiling, Wheeljack watches Ratchet’s head fall forward while his back arches in reaction to the continued vibrations around the base of his spike. The red and white mech is being a pretty horrible footstool, but the Wrecker knew this would be the reaction putting the ring on Ratchet would produce.

So Wheeljack focuses on his game- something called “Asteroids” that Raf had adapted for his data pad. It was a pretty mindless game to play, given his expertise in navigating the _Jackhammer_  through similar situations, and so he was able to keep some of his attention on the increasingly frustrated and desperate medic beneath his feet.

Ratchet bites down on the gag as he briefly fantasizes about cursing at the Wrecker above him. Wheeljack knows full well that this situation would have had him quivering  _without_  the fragging ring around his spike (and Ratchet takes a moment to curse his own fetishes, too). This is just cruel and unusual.

When Ratchet feels the Wrecker begin grinding his heel against his panel again, the snarl he releases quickly morphs into a needy whine as he rocks backward.

"Easy, Sunshine," Wheeljack says, smirking. "If I let you overload, will you actually behave?"

"Yes!" is Ratchet’s muffled and slurred reply, and he starts to just give in and curse at the mech, nevermind that the gag will make him sound ridiculous, but, before he can do that, Wheeljack gives him a shove on the aft with his foot.

With a muffled grunt, the medic’s face is pressed into the floor and his aft is still nicely in midair. Limbs bound as they are, Ratchet can really only squirm as Wheeljack manually opens his panel.

"Top of the line footstool," the mech jokes as he presses his spike into Ratchet’s clenching valve.

Embarrassment burns through his circuity and pushes his charge even higher. Moaning, Ratchet rocks back against Wheeljack as best he can until the mech is fully seated in his valve.

Wheeljack surprises the bound mech by immediately slipping the ring off of his spike and giving him quick, firm strokes.

Ratchet shouts, frame writhing beneath the Wrecker as his charge  _finally_  crashes through his circuits, knocking him offline for a few moments.

Optics finally opening, Ratchet is confused to find that the other mech hasn’t moved. With a muffled grunt, he tries to cast a glance back at him.

Without a word, Wheeljack slides his spike free of Ratchet still-clenching-valve, closes both of their panels, hauls the medic back up onto his elbows, and retakes his seat. “Now behave, Sunshine. I’ve got important things to do,” he lies, knowing full well that Ratchet is aware of his ongoing game of “Asteroids.”

Distinctly confused at this turn of events, Ratchet cranes his head around to stare at the Wrecker.

Wheeljack casts a glance at the bound mech, smirking down at him. “Since you distracted me by misbehaving, you’re going to put that mouth of yours to good use when I’m done here,” he says, waving the data pad in the air for emphasis. “And, this time, you’re going to have your faceplates pressed against my plating before I consider it a job well done, Doc.”

Without even waiting for the medic’s reaction, Wheeljack plops his feet on Ratchet’s back again and pretends to fully immerse himself in his game.

Blinking, Ratchet faces forward once more. Without that blasted ring around his spike any longer, he’s now free to contemplate his situation with perfect clarity. Chief medical officer. Bound and gagged. Under another mech’s feet. His own lubricant in a lewd puddle beneath him. Waiting for the mech above him to decide he wants his spike sucked.

The bound mech forgets to silence his wanton moan as heated arousal flares through his systems again.


End file.
